Wish upon A Star
by Beenie
Summary: Waking up anxious from a recurrent nightmare, Chase starts to worry about his future with House as his lover and partner. Will their relationship last or is it just make believe? Chase's POV, ER, fluff, implied slash.


**Wish upon A Star**

Some nightmare is waking you up and leaves you staring into the dark room, your heart pounding wildly, your breath going rapidly. It's not the first time you had this dream which seems to hang over you like a curse. The fear of being abandoned from the ones you love. The bad thing about it, it hasn't just been an imaginary fear.

With House, you finally have made a home. Peace, even, although you are well aware that it wouldn't be permanent. You may be a fool in love, but you're not naïve. House wasn't the guy to settle down or to devote his life to another person for good. However, it's what he did.

A wistful smile parts your lips as you think about how you moved to a bigger house with him outside town. A house with a garden and a swimming pool in it, because he knows you love being in the water. It's almost romantic, and it's been a huge step for your lover who is known to object any change. Wilson, who came up with the plan in the first place by renewing contact with his ex-wife Bonnie, he'd choose a bungalow so House wouldn't have to take any stairs.

Good, thoughtful Wilson. You never can take his place, that's for sure. On the other hand, you have no aspirations whatsoever to become a substitute for Wilson.

He's House's friend, and you're his lover. Marriages and relationships often break up, while friendships like Wilson's and House's are most likely to remain for a lifetime. Dr. James Wilson might be in a safer personal position, but you on the other hand have the privilege to see and experience House in a way that to Wilson would always be locked.

You have your own bedroom right across the hallway, but you prefer spending the nights in House's. He doesn't mind, on the contrary. Nights with House are hot and sweaty and hardly just there for an eight hour's rest. It never fails to amaze you how strong and untiring he can be. His bad leg never seems to be an obstacle when he fucks you (_makes love to you_).

With progressing exercise, you have figured out a way how to straddle him without putting too much of your body weight on his affected thigh.

And oh, he knows how to ride you!

It makes up for any previous inconvenience and it truly is worth any effort. He never gets straight to the point, but teaches you how to savor his presence, his proximity, his lenient foreplay which gives you the impression to last for endless hours of bliss.

The triumphant growling or grunting once he's inside you before he slowly starts thrusting causes a tingling sensation and washes waves of pleasure all over you until you unravel and moan with delight, begging for more of him.

* * *

As you inhale deeply, you still can sense the scent of your intimacy that's sticking in the damp sheets like an aphrodisiac.

You move to the middle of the bed, your hand reaching out for him just to find out that he's not longer there. Startled, you sit up and switch on the light on the nightstand.

"House?" There's an apprehension in your voice that you detest yourself for.

Don't panic. Probably he's just to the bathroom for a pee or drinking a glass of water. The summer nights are exceptionally hot and humid this year. Besides, your passionate lovemaking must have worn him out in a way.

Two seemingly endless minutes pass until you get up and hastily get clad in his robe that's about two times your size. It's your favorite fetish, and if you had one last wish, you'd like to be buried in it.

Buckling the belt, you stumble to the bathroom and check the kitchen, only to find out that you've been wrong. He's nowhere to be seen. Not inside the house, that is.

A premonition is troubling your mind as you recall your dream.

Something bad had happened. You half expect a farewell note lying on the table in the living room or on his desk.

_I'm not used to a regular life, so I'm about to do the reasonable thing and end it. It's not your fault, Chase, but I don't know how to tell you that you've married the wrong guy. A Seven never matches a Four. Seems you are prone to ill-fated relationships. I'm sorry. – H._

Your head is spinning, and you cling to one thought that you keep repeating desperately like your new mantra.

_Please don't let him go. Please don't take him away from me._

The relief you feel when there's no piece of paper anywhere is indescribable. But still, you're worried about where he could be. Why bother to get up in the middle of the night when there's no valid reason to it?

House is not the type to do irrational decisions, is he?

His clothes are spread along with yours all over the hallway, leaving a telling trace to the bedroom. You remember how he peeled you out of your pants and shirt, slowly and bit by bit, while his lips met yours repeatedly in feverish anticipation.

Your mouth still feels sore from his kisses (as does something else down south in your body), and they're even a bit swollen when you touch them unconsciously with your fingertips whilst thinking. It's a soreness you are proud of.

Focusing at the lintel above the front door, you realize that his cane is gone missing. That's strange. He's left the house with no clothes on, but thought about taking his cane with him?

Either way, he couldn't be that far, because the sheets were still marked by the warmth of his skin when you woke up. You have to find him and take him home, maybe picking him up dead drunk in a bar nearby. Anything would be better than being left alone.

* * *

A breeze from the half open terrace door suddenly vaults the curtains and makes you shiver, mostly for the subtle eeriness that makes your imagination running wild. Reluctantly, you move towards the door to close it. You always forget to make sure that it is shut properly, and House doesn't care as long as the nights are sticky like this one.

From the corner of your eye, you vaguely become alert that someone is sitting on the bench to your right. You put your hand over your mouth in order not to gasp in horror before you understand that it's House.

He sits there, lost in thought, his bright eyes glancing at the sky above. His hands are crossed on the handle of the cane, and he looks handsome and tall in his starched nakedness that points up his athletic frame.

The moonlight is casting shadows at the outlines of his well-defined muscles of his forearms, his biceps and the slight furrows of his face which shows no expression at all.

He's like a statue carved from stone by an ancient artist, but your notion is shattered to pieces when you watch a trace of a single tear running down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away.

There has never been a moment before where you clearly have witnessed his vulnerability that he usually hides underneath a shell of mockery.

Without turning his head, he begins to talk to you in that low, almost rumbling tone of voice that gives you goose bumps.

"No worries. I'm not gonna kidnap you. Already have."

You step closer to the bench, awkward at first on how to react or response, but House reaches out and takes your hand to make you sit down and join him. Before you know it, you wrap your arm around his shoulder.

God knows how long he had been sitting here outside with nothing but his cane on. His skin feels chilly as you graze your lips over his cheek to catch that salty tear with the tip of your tongue.

Amused by your boldness, he starts to chuckle. It's the most wonderful sound right now. Very unexpected as well. It takes the tension away within the wink of an eye.

"What are you doing out here anyway?" you ask, bedding your head on his shoulder. You can hear him breath. It's a soothing and slumberous sensation to listen to his breath and the sturdy, regular heartbeat of his.

Like being cradled to sleep.

"Wishing upon a star", he replies. "They'd forecast the most starlit night of the year. They were right for once. I didn't want to miss the opportunity."

"What did you wish for?"

"I don't want it to end. I know it's pathetic and a load of crap, but who the hell cares? Let's keep it a secret between you and me and the stars, ok? Stay with me, Chase. Don't ever walk out on me."

You can't believe that House did do something irrational after all.

Apparently, you still have to learn a lot about the man you are living with.


End file.
